My Personal Voldemort

Everyone needs to read this.

Kiyokotown Writes

There’s a shirt that hangs in the back of my closet, nestled among the rarely worn pieces: a winter coat, a two time champion Ugly Christmas sweater, a vaguely Handmaid’s Tale-like frock that one of my friends had the audacity to call a bridesmaids dress. This shirt is… well, it’s beautiful. The color is a deep burnt orange-y rust that perfectly contrasts with a summer tan. The sleeves hit at that just right length and the fabric, oh the fabric. It’s a buttery soft cotton blend that is both airy and light, yet hugs you in the right places.

I’ve worn this shirt once, just once, and then relegated it to the back of the closet, never to be worn again. Twice in the last two years I’ve shifted clothes aside so I can admire it, briefly consider wearing it, but… ultimately I can’t. The last time I wore it…

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